The reviewer that pointed out the inconsistency with Emma not traveling thanks! I had messed it up, obviously, Emma has been to London for those events you mentioned and she also knew the details of Brunswick Square and was adamant about not living there for size and personal space reasons in the early chapters of this story. So clearly she would have needed to have visited at least once. Good catch, I lost the plot for a moment there! I have gone back in to fix that. Basically, it now reads that Emma has never traveled for leisure. I imagine that there were times where she was able to travel for family reasons, short 2-3 day trips. I also imagine Mr. Woodhouse would have had a stipulation, no additional exposure to the London air, carriage to the house, no windows, no drafts, no germ riddled visitors. In this way any travel would be very mundane—no parties or sightseeing but practical, christening ceremonies or staying at home with Isabella. I hope that fixes things!
A few have wondered why Emma cannot live alone—obviously, she has money, why can she just live in Highbury? This boils down to the social customs and norms of her timeframe. Women had no agency, they were controlled (protected) by their father, then brother and then husband. Not marrying was seen as social suicide and living alone as an unmarried woman just didn't happen. Basically, unless you were a widow, you just didn't live alone—even widows would often live with their next of kin. It was seen a completely out of the question, women couldn't do their own banking or handle their own affairs in the way a young man could. For these reasons, Emma would either need to move in with relations or get married. This is explained in the conversation with Mr. Knightley and is accurate to the era and culture of the day.
Oh and the reviewer that reviewed about ch.2! Yes, I like your idea as well. In this one, I intentionally had Emma work within her skills of manipulation—she has always been able to get her way and she uses that in this situation as well. This also produces the tension between the two, and also Emma's insecurity in a way—would he have married her if she had not manipulated him into it? Does he regret it and so on.
Chapter 18
Baby Knightley
A clip from the novel Emma "Emma felt as if they were friends again; and the conviction giving her at first great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness, she could not help saying, as he was admiring the baby:
"What a comfort it is that we think alike about our nephews and nieces! As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; but with regard to these children, I observe we never disagree."
"If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always think alike."
– Jane Austen
"I am glad you both are here," John told him, opening the door to his small study. It was hardly larger than one of the kitchen pantries at Donwell and the large desk John had against the wall dwarfed the small space even more.
"It is good to be here, but you must know Emma took a good deal of convincing, she is not happy with how things have played out with Isabella," George explained, she had pouted a good part of the carriage ride but for the time she spent snoring quietly against his shoulder.
"George, she is not the only one displeased by how things have played out; imagine how Isabella has felt these long months, not a single word from her sister, she had such low spirits the entire time of her confinement and I can't help but think the feuding between her and her sister are to blame. "
"You'll not place that squarely on Emma," George warned his brother.
"Not solely, but I cannot deny the difference in her confinement this time than in the last time when Emma sat with her as a companion to her. You'll remember those times; you were the one who devised the plan. You were the one who provided a solution that would allow Emma to be near Isabella without having to negotiate with Mr. Woodhouse or to be very far from her father so she might visit him during Isabella's napping hour. And it was you after all who was willing to stay at Hartfield and constantly so in order to tend to Mr. Woodhouse's every malaise, whim, and fancy, allowing Emma the ability to stay with Isabella at the main guest house at Donwell,"
"Ah, so you admit it yourself brother, there is more than one variable in the equation. Maybe it was Donwell that Isabella missed—it is the grandest place in all the world I dare say, I'd not fault her for it—you might have merely asked it, you know that brother. Or if not Donwell, then perhaps the country lanes for gentle walking, the freshness of country air perhaps? I dare say there is nothing quite as powerful as the London air to make one feel despondent, Mr. Woodhouse always spoke at length at its injuriousness." George tossed back to his brother.
"Say what you might George, you know as well as I there is tension between the two sisters and that it is not good for either party to be at odds in this way. You are also keenly aware of the role you have played in fostering some of this friction between the two sisters, had you not interfered Emma would be happily living in London and she would have been able to be with Isabella during this confinement. "
George laughed, slightly more acerbic that he would have intended had he really thought his actions through when it came to defending Emma he had very little restraint.
"She is happy at Donwell," he volleyed back curtly.
"Well, I suppose that is good; I would not like to hear it said that both Knightley women were in low spirits—one might start to speculate that it was a curse that came with the inheritance of the name by way of marriage." An unflattering chuckle accompanied the statement, jaded and almost forced sounding. The allusion was not lost on George. "Oh, but you'll have to let Emma know that you will have to be satisfied with a single guest room while you stay in our home. I'll not spare you another guest room for the sake of Emma's vanity or entertain any sort of charade on your behalf—and if Emma has a problem with it then she might sleep in the nursery on the nurse's cot near the children." John said sternly, obviously riled up in defense of his wife—George was rather certain this was the figure that most saw when they met John Knightley, London lawyer.
"I'm sure Emma wouldn't have it any other way," George said, unconcerned. "It is our current arrangement at Donwell as well; there is a funny story to it," George offered, tailing off for effect and hoping the story would change the mood in the small office, which at present was rather stifling.
"Your arrangement, " John reflected, "I had half hoped that the two of you would be passed that, but how you present it now, in your own words, suggests to me that it is as contrived as it has ever been,"
"Oh stop trying to sound so foreboding!" George began, with an upbeat tone to his voice that suggested he did not want to fight about it. "I am trying to regale you with a humorous tale that will allow us to put aside our differences, but I'll only continue if you can swear to it that you'll put down the sword, and stop trying to pierce me out of some twisted sense of vengeance," George told him flatly.
"Very well, we will quarrel no more about it, hopefully, this trip will be one of reconciliation," John agreed, "First, how about a drink in toast to your return?"
"I would not turn it down." George agreed.
John's baritone laughter broke out again, "Your joking," he made out barely against the peals of laughter.
"Not in the slightest," George chuckled, laughing at his brother more than anything.
"Inflating then, enhancing the story with exaggeration for effect,"
"The tale needs no exaggeration," George told him with mirth.
John laughed again taking another sip of his drink.
"You are telling me that you woke startled thinking that someone was bringing harm to another person?"
"Yes, and as I got nearer, the sound was coming from Emma's room but at the same point I was struck with the notion that the shrieking seemed less the cries of injury and more the laughter of madness, and words cannot fully do justice to the mixture of absurdity and relief I felt seeing her pinned by Virgil being ferociously licked and rendered almost completely immobile,"
"And somehow in the midst of all that you convinced her to let you stand in as her lap dog, and you are sure you do not want a career in Law—your powers of persuasion as paramount as they are?" John laughed again, this time sounding a little forced.
"It wasn't like that,"
"It wasn't? Well, what was it like then?" John asked.
"I don't fully recall it, but it wasn't like you suggest, I did not manipulate her or the situation. In the first few months of our marriage, I wanted to allow her as much space as possible. Her own room, freedom to decorate, and to make her own plans as she might have done at Hartfield and I had assumed she would appreciate it. Yet, I was presented with the facts that evening, that she was cold and lonely and you know as well as I how much I care for her, and here she is my wife and I'd felt I'd been neglectful. I saw it as a good solution to the problems presented, and still do,"
"Well, as the French say 'Comme on fait son lit on se couche' or the English 'As the bed has been left, and so must you sleep in it," John offered, raising his glass as if to give a mock toast, "So I'll say nothing more about it and I'll let you sleep in it the way you see fit,"
George nodded, but still felt the niggling feeling of annoyance over how his brother had cast the situation.
The Knightley brothers were laughing, it could be heard from where she sat in the living room, alone and holding a book so she would not seem overly circumspect. The book really wouldn't fool anyone who knew her well, John maybe but certainly not George or Isabella. They would know she was still at the beginning of the book, and despite having skipped a few pages had not yet past her own age worth in page numbers.
Hearing the brothers laugh at first made her smile, John had a ridiculous sounding laugh and the thin walls did nothing to contain it. After a few outbursts, something shifted in her and then the laughter provoked some odd form of jealousy, her own sister was merely down the hall and up the stairs and yet they had hardly talked since Emma's arrival earlier in the day.
John had ushered everyone out rather hastily after Emma had said hello and asked after how Isabella was feeling. John had claimed that Isabella had not slept well and needed to be certain she was getting enough rest by order from their doctor.
Emma placed the book down on the couch, struggling to decide between rousing Isabella or playing with the children. The second option seemed altogether more inviting but then she thought back on George's words before they had left Donwell. He had talked about how it was completely unnecessary for the feud to drag on beyond this trip. He told her specifically that he while he did not believe that the problem was entirely her fault, that he would be tremendously proud of her if she were able to help resolve things with Isabella and bring about resolution this trip.
She had at first pouted; wanting to know what percentage of blame his levied upon her, but then imagined the face he sported so finely when he was proud of her. Although there would never be a time where she had taken in enough of that face, with a proud glow upon it, she had seen it enough times to know its look by heart, his eyes lit up and he looked so sincere as he beamed at her. And then he would look at her as if she was the best thing in the entire world—who had never done a thing wrong in her entire life—it seemed almost an eternity since he had last looked at her like that, with praise on his lips and satisfaction written across his face.
Yes, she would do almost anything to see that expression from him—it had been far too long.
Mustering up the courage to do it was more difficult than she expected it to be. Entering into Isabella's room, knowing she would need to be the first to apologize in order to resolve anything. It was likely birth order that instituted it, the younger always was in some way subservient to the older, it was how they were accustomed from a young age.
She hoped to get it over with and set the groundwork for future encounters.
At her first attempt at an apology, Isabella was almost stiff and unwilling to receive any words from her.
She persisted.
"I never intended to degrade the offer that you and John made me, I know that you meant well by it," Emma told her.
"You can't know how deeply it hurt us," Isabella said.
"I am sorry. And I am sorry that our fighting prevented me from sitting with you these recent weeks,"
"Yes, you and I both—I was impossibly lonely, John working and much of his energy applied there, it seems there is always ever so much required of him by his job but that is as it must be. But to be stuck at home with the nursemaid and the children—honestly, it is nearly enough to make a person crazy," Isabella admitted. "I wished a hundred times that you would be here—that you would have chosen London as your home instead of Highbury,"
"Yes, but if things were right between us, my living in Highbury should not have meant that I could not travel to visit you, George wouldn't deny me a thing like that. He would probably even allow me to take a carriage for something as wasteful as a day trip to London if I asked it of him," Emma remarked proudly.
Isabella started weeping, "This time Emma I had really wished you would be here— I hadn't been healthy going into everything. I was afflicted with lethargy and sadness at various moments. Nothing predictable, just emotions and feeling overwrought at a moment's notice—it should not have been a surprise that the birth was also strenuous. The doctor at one moment thought we might lose dear little Emma and at another that I might perish for I lost a deal of blood. It was all very frightening and surreal. In the midst of it, I thought of my loved ones and more than anything I thought about you Emma because we had not spoken since your wedding, and before that our last words were not kind or loving. More than anything I did not wish to leave things that way. You can't imagine how relieved I was to learn that baby Emma would be alright and that the doctor felt I would be fully recovered,"
"I did not know, the note from John did not explain the circumstances," Emma insisted, her shock apparent in her tone and face.
"Of course, we did not want to worry you needlessly—the doctor has me on a sleeping regime, eating liver and taking beef teas every day, but aside from that I do not feel any worse than I have after the other children," Isabella assured.
Emma shuddered at the thought of liver.
"I am so sorry, it was childish—I see that now, promise me we will never let anything like this come between us again?"
"We shan't," Isabella replied. "The regime for sleeping is that I must sleep two hours for every hour I am awake, unfortunately it means I should try to sleep again now," Isabella told her, "But be sure to spend as much time as you wish with Baby Emma, knowing you, I know you'll not let the nursemaid keep her all to herself,"
"Have a good rest, I will go find them and I'll be certain to get my fair share of attention from my namesake," Emma insisted.
"I thought I might find you with her," George told as he stood in the entryway to the living room.
"Yes, she decided to take a reprieve from the nursery to spend time with her favourite aunt," Emma acknowledged.
"I suppose that falls to you by default in the same way I win the title of best uncle," George remarked dryly.
Emma for her part ignored him, "I like this room better than the nursery, there is a good deal more light and my father always said sunlight was the best thing for babies, but the air was not, so one must find the better windows in the house and spend time there often while the sun was up," Emma told him, holding little Emma as she rocked gently in the sunbeams.
"She seems happy enough," George commented,
"She is charming and delightful, exactly as her aunt," Emma added with a silly look just show the teasing spirit behind her words.
"Yes, she is," he remarked in agreeance.
"Would you like to hold her?"
"Only once I'm sitting," he told her, "she seems so tiny, and fragile—" he stated.
"Oh hush, you'll not damage her, you're far too capable for that but if you'll sit I will place her in your arms," she told him.
He sat there patiently waiting, and she then sat on the couch beside him, sitting close and leaning in even closer in order to make the swap without causing any commotion for baby Emma.
Once he was settled holding the baby, which appeared a large ball of swaddling with a head and one fist pressed against her cheek, Emma leaned back and inspected the scene.
She smiled then, "I dare say she has the Knightley nose," she said this looking between the two and the gently traced her finger along the baby's nose; she followed it up by immediately tracing the same line along George's own. "Yes, the very same it is uncanny,"
"And mouth," George reflected almost as a reflex as if he were merely pointing it out as a fact as if he didn't know where that would lead her. He couldn't know because he had not known her thoughts the past few weeks or how transfixing she found his mouth in recent days.
Emma looked at him, "The lower lip certainly," she said taking her hand a tracing outer edge of his lower lip line.
Everything but her mind wanted to trace it back the other way along the same line to repeat the sensation it stirred beneath her fingertips.
Instead, she dropped her eyes and her hand to the little baby and gently repeated the motion.
"But certainly the Woodhouse cheekbones," she told him,
"Had I a free hand I would confirm the comparison," he told her, and she wouldn't bring herself to look at him. She felt she would blush if she did, but how she wished he was more confident in cradling the child. She had seen the nursemaid was able to hold the baby in one hand while helping little George with something with the other. He, on the other hand very much required both as he held the baby with both arms looped together in a bassinet shape.
"She is so adorable and so small and just look at those eyelashes, my word! I think she might also have the Knightley eyelashes but I'll not try to pet them or yours," Emma told him, allowing for humour in the place of the shyness she was feeling.
He chuckled, she smiled, pleased to hear the sound from him, "It is probably for the best, one of us might be blinded in the attempt. Isn't that right little Emma?" he said speaking to the baby then.
"But her eyes, well they are just as bright as her aunt's" George reflected, at the closer inspection. "A gorgeous shade of cerulean blue—"
"Oh, George, all babies are born with blue eyes—they change over time as the baby grows, it is unlikely they will remain this colour. Isabella has brown eyes, your brother's eyes are hazel, not the same shade as your eyes mind- but hazel none the less. All that to say it is unlikely."
"Really, you think John and I have different eye colour? I always thought it was near enough the same, the Knightley unremarkable, brackish green hue,"
"They aren't unremarkable, I've always thought your eyes were one of your better features. And no, you and your brother do not have the same shade. You have a different shade entirely—any with different freckles of pigmentation. You see, you have grey flecks where he has brown flecks and you have a deep forest colour that runs the circumference of iris, and he does not"
"Well, you are ever the artist noticing every minor detail."
"It is not just that, I know you—I know your face maybe better than I do my own, every line, every feature, everything. I have it practically memorized, I could sketch you in a minute," she told him confidently.
"Well, that certainly speaks to my crude features then. Well, it isn't any wonder you find my eyes preferable by comparison," he teased her in response, laughing at his own joke.
"I meant to say that I know your face by heart, not that I could do justice to it so quickly," she countered, not laughing with him but evenly in explanation.
"I know what you meant, I couldn't resist the opportunity of teasing you," he told her and the continued, "I rest my case in regards to the eye colour and simply say that she will be lucky indeed if she gets to keep them in their current shade," he told her, locking his gaze with hers for the longest of moments and she felt her heartbeat quicken and when she could take it not a moment longer she shifted her gaze to the baby in his arms.
The baby reached out then, clasping a hand around the swaddling blanket and gurgling a little.
"Is that a normal sound?" Emma asked him, looking to his face for assurance. The explanation of the traumatic birth that Isabella had told her had set her more on guard for this babe's health. She had never thought anxious thoughts with the others when they were babies—back then everything had felt so safe, so sure.
"Yes, Emma she was merely stretching a little,"
There was a long pause between their talking; Emma was focused on the baby watching intently to confirm his appraisal. It seemed he was indeed right, as the baby yawned and pulled her fisted closer to her mouth again.
"She is so impossibly tiny," Emma commented, the baby curled and unfurled her hand against Emma's finger and she was truly struck by the remarkableness of it all. "Yet she is so perfect just the same," she smiled and then asked almost absentmindedly, "Had you ever wanted children? I know you had always said you wished to remain a bachelor and to have Donwell go to Henry but secretly had you ever thought of it?"
"Well had you ever thought of children? I mean, I know once you grew older you had always intended to remain unmarried and care dotingly for your father. Surely there would have been a time when you were little when you put down your own dolls for a moment and imagined your own future household? I certainly remember being a boy, playing and imagining all the great games I would play with my own son—I wouldn't be like the other adults that were too preoccupied or disinterested –I swore it. Promised myself I would never get that old and boring, and I would always be playing childhood games," he chuckled.
"Ah, so that is what you are up to in those time when you are 'running the estate' –what you are really doing is riding about the estate, pulling minnows out the fish pond with a basket, running in foot races and playing conkers with the neighboring children," she laughed at the idea. She could almost imagine it in her mind's eye.
"Well, it was not only about games. I remember being away at Eton and thinking that I would not wish to send my own sons to boarding school; that I would make a living sizable enough to have tutors for them and then they would be able to remain at home learning in their studies and learning the affairs of managing the estate. So, yes I suppose there was a time when I envisioned those things. When my father died it was tremendously straining, I was not sure at that time how anyone might run an estate and have a family without having some part of it falling to neglect. I was, it seemed forever occupied with work, making sure John was studying and well set up, checking in with my Woodhouse neighbours, paperwork late in the evenings, morning rising early to direct the hired men. It was daunting work, exhausting in every way yet, something about the prospect was encouraging as if I were building towards something or for something—like leaving a legacy of some kind to pass on someday. In hindsight, much of my work in the early days of inheriting prevented the possibility of meeting possible suitable matches. I didn't want to be at some party in London, I wanted to be walking and inspecting my apple harvest, building relations with my tenants or setting up instructions for digging irrigation trench lines. And as a result, sometime later the childhood notion faded, I am not sure exactly when but the unlikely nature of that artificial future probably had something to do with it. I've heard it said that when one dream dies, another rises up to replace it. I think it must be true because I became focused on the idea of mentoring; young men that looked to me for advice—they are not my sons but I might have a similar impact in their lives—men like Robert Martin, young lads like Henry. It was at that time that I thought it would be best that Henry be my heir; that he could be raised up to run Donwell as capably as any of my sons might have."
"I was not so very long ago then, if the idea only originated with Henry being an alternate option, for he has only just turned six," she reflected wisely.
"How astute you are Emma, but it reminds me that you Emma are avoiding my question, as you did not answer it," he told her chuckling at her retort just the same.
"I am not avoiding it; there really is not much to say on the subject. Truthfully, I had never really considered it," she explained, "I think I always felt too childish myself, I mean it would be impossible or perhaps daft." She laughed at that, "I don't know. I had never felt the need to be married—well until we did get married. I never thought I would marry. I never really thought about children, not really –I've never really thought about any of it. I think it is right what you said, one dream dying and another taking its place," she offered. "I mean, for me, I never lived beyond my father. I never envisioned it in my imaginings of the future—strange as it seems now. In each dream it was always me and my father, happy and content, but for the run of the mill malaise or routine precautions to thwart malady," she smiled then, really thinking on it, "But when I think back on it now I see it, the impracticality of it, we were almost frozen in time, completely unchanging through the years. And yet, in my happy optimism, I just assumed I'd never live to see a day without my father. I was always doting on him, into his tender old age—I never stopped to consider that he was already rather old and that I would not likely die before him. I just wanted to be with him and care for him. I don't know why I never considered that. Even having lost my dear mama at a young age I should not have been ignorant of the possibility of eventually losing my papa too. "
She took a long pause, "And I realize now that that dream is over, that everything has changed, and if it is as you say where another dream must take its place I do not fully know where to start,"
"You start my dreaming another dream, I found for my own part it isn't a forced thing, you live life, looking around at all the things placed about you and somehow new ideas or notions arrive –Just like baby Emma, a fresh start and the possibility for a hopeful future, " he told her motioning to the small infant he still cradled.
"Well, they certainly are adorable," she told him, beaming down at her small niece, "babies that is, Emma perhaps is the most adorable of the collection so far," she teased.
"She likely inherited it with the name, I've heard the name 'Emma' bestows and happy optimistic personality and healthy glow on whoever is fortunate enough to bare it." He told her, his trademark grin in place.
"Well, adorable yes, but one must remember they don't stay so easy," she told him, ignoring the compliment entirely.
"You mean as children?"
She nodded, and she was near enough to him that he could see the motion without needing to turn his head.
"Well, certainly—especially if they take after their impetuous aunt Emma, half of my job if felt at times was spent pulling you out of my apple trees when you'd climbed higher than your governess' heart could withstand,"
"Oh I remember, I wasn't ever even so high as to warrant your help—not that it stopped you. It always spoiled my plan to harvest the apple nearest to perfection, as everyone knows the best apples are always on the highest branches," she affirmed,
"There it is then proof that children aren't always so easy as this," he said rocking his arms gently as he said it, the babe appeared to be asleep. "But then children have their merits too," George told her.
"Really?" she asked, "such as?"
"Keeping us young," he told her. "Keeping us childlike, that is if we will let them," he added.
"Really?" she asked him quizzically as if she didn't fully believe him.
"Umhum, well yes. Perhaps not my mother, she was always so controlling, so set in her ways and structured, but your mother, certainly understood the concept." he agreed "Do you remember? Do you remember what she was like? Do you remember the fun she always had with you and your sister?" he asked.
"No, sadly I do not recall it. That is one regret, try as I might I cannot remember her in my early memories – I know her face but only from looking at the portrait that was in the living room at Hartfield," she told him.
"I remember at one picnic, you would have been around two, your sister was perhaps seven or eight and your mother was playing with both of you in the grass—it is funny; at that age, people would say all sorts of things near me without a second thought. I think it was not until my father died that any had any sort of care or notice to watch their words. Certainly, at that time I was still viewed as a schoolboy, even if it would have bothered me to hear it, see to me I was almost grown and felt I had learned near everything there was to know—I had only just one more year before graduated Eton." He smiled as he spoke; she listened to his story, toying with the baby's hands and fingers as she did so.
"See the other mothers, were more like my mother; as your mother lay in the grass playing with you and Isabella they looked on as if she was crazy. But she was not crazy, she was like you are now, almost as if she hadn't grown up fully—and not in a bad way. She wasn't immature, nor daft or crazy like they speculated. It was refreshing, and it was just genuine, and I think the other ladies were simply jealous that they didn't know how to achieve it for themselves. It was like she had not been jaded or taxed too harshly by adulthood. It was like she hadn't forgotten what it was like, to be a child and to be at play. She was lovely, she was childlike and she still understood how to have fun; the two of you sisters were always so happy and undoubtedly had more fun than the other children, your mother certainly had more fun than the other mothers—all they could do was gawk and gossip—their own children likely looking on with jealousy as well," he chuckled.
He had her full attention, though the babe still held her finger; her eyes had not left him since he began describing his memory and her mother.
"I think you'd be like that, I can almost see it, you playing with dolls under the tea table or humming the wedding march sitting on the floor behind the curtains in the drawing room, shoulder to shoulder with a blonde ringlet hair child, " he laughed softly,
"You can't know it," she told him, resisting in words but not in spirit because secretly she could imagine it too, a little girl, all hers with starlight blue eyes sitting next to her as they laughed.
"Well, of course I cannot know it, I am not claiming clairvoyance. I am simply saying that I can certainly imagine it-and it doesn't mean it is fated to come true,"
"Very well," she said agreeably, the blonde child in her minds eye, tossed her curls as she nodded in agreement.
Here you lovely people are! I am really happy to see reviewers coming out of the woodwork! This chapter is the biggest yet, clocking in just under 6,000 words or 12 pages-all that to say please review, a lot of time went into this chapter and I want to know what you are thinking!
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